


I Don't Have Your Appetite

by StumbleineSuperqueen



Series: Therapy Sex (Not Sex Therapy) [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, and see what happens, anyway this is for idonthaveyourappetite, i'm going to do an experiment where i never tag my fics with anything specifically sexual, in terms of comments, lol, this is a lot of things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8266600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StumbleineSuperqueen/pseuds/StumbleineSuperqueen
Summary: "Focus.""On what?""Breathing. And this." Hannibal holds Will's pocket knife between their faces. The newly-ground edge glints."Tell me where."He hesitates only briefly, sits back carefully and touches the scar across his stomach, the L-shaped line that cuts white and hairless across the majority of his lower torso. Hannibal is watching his face. Will traces a finger along it without looking—the scar tissue is thick, obvious, stands out from his stomach like a bas-relief."Right here," he says steadily. "Do it again."TWs: knifeplay, bloodplay (a tiny bit), violent sex, I don't know how to tag for it but just like...general explicitness? lol you'll see, sexual humiliation, D/s a little bit (kind of) more like S&M, let me know if I'm forgetting anything





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idonthaveyourappetite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idonthaveyourappetite/gifts).



Will winces. Hannibal pauses, more lube, tries again with just one finger. It's a little better but he still tenses, feeling his insides invaded.

"Too sore?"

"No," Will says, lying. "You don't have to stop."

Hannibal looks at his face appraisingly, sensing his lie. He slides his finger in very slowly and stops as soon as Will tenses.

"Relax, Will."

Hannibal's voice is soft, but he is using his therapy tone: authoritative, conspiratorial, coaxing. _You're a smart boy, Will. I know what you're capable of._

In the present moment Will's back is against the headboard, his knees drawn up. Kneeling between his open thighs is Hannibal. Hannibal slides his finger deeper, pulls back, slides it in, Will is so sensitive there, especially now, and he shudders in pain and the lovely drag of Hannibal in and out of him. Deep inside his body, a space somewhere between Will's hips is aching.

"Take a deep breath," Hannibal instructs, leans closer and buries his face in Will's exposed neck, inhaling deeply in the peculiar way he does, murmurs into his throat, without a hint of playfulness: "Breathe..."

Will feels that he can hardly breathe at all, let alone focus on how he's doing it. He lets his eyes close and groans, wondering how long he'll be in control of anything his body is doing.

"On your next exhale, I want you to consciously focus on relaxing your muscles." Hannibal's other hand is skimming along Will's ribs, lingering over each scar. It drifts downward and comes to rest around Will's painfully hard erection. He gasps and jerks back into the carved wooden headboard. "Use the grounding techniques I taught you in our sessions for dissociation. I know that you remember."

 _Yes, I remember, Dr. Lecter,_ Will thinks. _But you weren't inside my body then._

"How can I?"

_"Breathe."_

Will tries. He closes his eyes and breathes in, and out, and in, and out, and now it's two, and it still hurts like a bitch. Involuntarily he braces back and Hannibal feels it.

He pulls away and lays down next to Will. Will's face feels hot; he gratefully cuddles into Hannibal's arms, not looking him in the eye.

"How do you feel about being penetrated, Will?"

Will is embarrassed. "Embarrassed."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know," he says uncomfortably.

He doesn't want to discuss the thing, just do it. Sex with women was so simple—it always just...happened. The deliberateness, the preparation of fucking Hannibal has so far been challenging to him.

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Yes," he says hastily, "of course I do. I love it, Hannibal. I do." He doesn't want Hannibal to think that he's the problem.

Hannibal kisses him. "Then what's wrong, my dear, sweet boy?" he whispers. "I want to fuck you."

A shiver goes down Will's spine.

Hannibal's hand slides along his back, his side, his hip. "I want to be inside you," he murmurs, and Will is having trouble swallowing. "I want to pleasure you, Will."

"I know," Will whispers back, distracted. "I mean, I do too. I mean..."

"I want you to want this, what we do...all of it." Hannibal noses along his jawline, briefly pinches his earlobe in his teeth. "I want you to want all of me."

Will is breathing hard, red in the face, not sure what to do, but hopelessly turned on. Hannibal is touching him everywhere, stroking and caressing, but not his now very erect cock.

"It just...hurts," he says, at a loss for words.

"Has my love never hurt before, Will?"

"It always used to." Will's hand is straying downward and Hannibal takes it before it reaches its destination, kisses his knuckles. "Now..."

"You're no longer used to painful love. And yet...you desire it. You miss it. Don't you, Will?"

"Yes."

"You want it enough to lie," he says softly. "You want it enough to let me hurt you."

"Yes..."

"But not enough to...relax."

"Maybe I want it to hurt," Will whispers. "Maybe it feels good when you hurt me. Familiar. Comforting."

"Comforting." Hannibal lets the word hang. "Does it make you feel loved, Will? When I hurt you?"

"Yes," he whispers desperately. "You're so good at it."

"Where is your pocket knife?"

"In my jeans."

Hannibal retrieves it from the floor, tries the blade against his thumbnail. Apparently dissatisfied, he leaves the room and returns with the kitchen knife sharpener. Will watches anxiously as he runs the blade down, and off, down and off along the metal rod.

"That will do," he decides. He lays the sharpener on the nightstand and looks at Will, stroking himself.

"Trauma transfigures the brain, Will. Your experiences have altered you indelibly, physically as well as mentally," Hannibal says, then pauses to consider. "Get on top."

Will bites his lip and carefully straddles Hannibal's hips, leaning forward nearly hands and knees. He settles just ahead of Hannibal's cock, but he still feels it rubbing against his ass and he can't help but rock back against it.

"Mmm..."

"Not yet. Don't try again, Will. Focus."

"On what?"

"Breathing. And this." Hannibal holds Will's pocket knife between their faces. The newly-ground edge glints.

"Tell me where."

He hesitates only briefly, sits back carefully and touches the scar across his stomach, the L-shaped line that cuts white and hairless across the majority of his lower torso. Hannibal is watching his face. Will traces a finger along it without looking—the scar tissue is thick, obvious, stands out from his stomach like a bas-relief.

"Right here," he says steadily. "Do it again."

Hannibal sets the knife aside and guides his hips up with a touch, up, until he can reach between his thighs and take his cock in his hand. Will is hard again, draws in a deep breath. He has to keep his balance awkwardly against the headboard in this position, hovering over Hannibal's body.

"Are you going to be good for me, Will?" Hannibal asks him.

He has an awful way of sounding completely calm and serious when he says things like that, as if not being good for Dr. Lecter might lead to real and deadly consequences. Will wonders how to know when he's playing. Always, and never. It's nerve-wracking.

"Yes."

"Go ahead."

 _Go ahead. Sure._ Hannibal steadies him with his other hand and Will feels his way down. He sighs when it touches him, but he can't press back very much before it starts to hurt again.

"Not like that."

A dull ache—Will looks down. The tip of the knife is denting the smooth tight skin of the scar. His stomach rolls. He wonders if the scar has any feeling. It doesn't seem to.

"How?"

"Start by just thrusting back against it. Find a way to make it feel good."

The tip of the blade digs into the scar, a fraction of an inch, but deep enough to draw blood. Will hisses through his teeth. It does feel, once the skin separates.

"I want you to enjoy this, Will. I'm afraid I must insist." Hannibal smiles. "Don't go deep, darling...go easy."

Will takes a while trying to decide the best way to accomplish this while also not impaling himself (on the knife). He had never paid much attention to how girls had done it (and had never had occasion to see a girl do it with a knife digging into her an inch below the navel); somehow he'd always been pretty distracted at the time. He tries to picture where they braced themselves on the bed, the attractive angles. He's not sure if they would be the same for him anyway...he's uncomfortably aware of his body like this, above Hannibal but not doing the fucking. Still Hannibal never takes his rapt attention from Will's face.

"Hannibal...this is even more embarrassing."

"I know."

"Do you always need to make me ask why?"

"Absolutely."

"Why am I doing this, Dr. Lecter?"

"Well," Hannibal says, retracting the knife and using it to count things off on his fingers, "To begin, you are having difficulty being honest with me during sex."

"Hannibal—"

"Two." Second finger.

"You might at least let me answer!" Will breaks in.

"Answer this one. Two, you tell me you are embarrassed to be penetrated."

"Two, also, it hurts."

"It would not hurt if you would relax, Will. And did my ears deceive me, or did the words 'maybe it feels good when you hurt me' leave your mouth? Dear."

Will glowers at him. _"'Maybe,'"_ he points out.

"We shall see. Three, penetration bothers you because you are ashamed to be the receiving partner, and to have a male lover."

"Three, that's not true," Will says, wounded. "I'm not ashamed of you, Hannibal."

"You may be and you may not be. One is not able to control one's societal conditioning."

"But I'm not," wanting him to know.

Hannibal looks up and strokes his face to show his acknowledgment. "I'm glad."

Will smiles at him, not quite satisfied, but he accepts that Hannibal is trying to humor him, that he understands the sentiment. Sometimes that's what you have to do.

"Four, in a similar vein, one cannot stop reacting in a certain way on command. But conditioning can be overwritten with further conditioning."

"Four, I am not a science fair project."

"Five, your fear stands in the way of something you desire."

"I'm not _afraid,"_ Will says, feeling that there's a contradiction somewhere in his indignation.

"Six, if we cannot remove the association of embarrassment with penetration, we can associate embarrassment with pleasure and solve your problem through the transitive property."

"Now, that's not fair. You get one more argument than me."

"Go ahead."

"First of all—"

"Sixth."

 _"Sixth,_ Hannibal, sixth, what if we just associated _penetration_ with pleasure and cut out the middleman?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Hannibal says, maybe a little good-natured dry mockery, "we'll do that too."

"Mmm," Will says, considering that. So...advantages for both of them. "Alright. But then you've got to cut this shit out. I feel like a lab rat."

Hannibal experimentally grabs Will's erection, hard, and he flinches. "You seem to be enjoying it."

"Stop," he pants, not meaning it. "I...that's...too hard... _Hannibal..."_

"Do what you're told."

_Fuck..._

He leans back and shifts his weight and Hannibal replaces the knife. Will doesn't try to shove this time, just focuses on moving back and forth on it, a little bit at a time, slowly.

"Mm...Hannibal..."

"Take your time, Will."

Hannibal works his hand over Will's cock, unhurried, as if he's slightly less interested in the actual sex than in drawing out Will's discomfort. He closes his eyes.

"Very good...ahh," the first inch of him slides inside and Will breathes and starts again.

If he doesn't think too hard, he can find a rhythm where he can thrust himself into Hannibal's grip on his cock as he comes forward, and when he catches it and holds it for a few strokes he moans.

"Now up," Hannibal says briskly, and jabs him unexpectedly in his scar. Will jerks backward into yet more pain and yet it's so nice, the sudden stretch, the pain in taking it faster, and the noise he makes can't decide whether it's "ow fuck" or "oh _fuck..."_ but it definitely ends in "oh my _God..."_

He drags himself up by the headboard, but it's not far enough to completely evade the knife and he's forced to push himself off by one hand and shift his hips forward while leaning back awkwardly. He grabs Hannibal's hand and...if he kind of sits back... _oh...fuck..._

"Hannibal," he says, "I can't, it _hurts..."_

"You like it."

Hannibal doesn't have time to elaborate, merely points it out while taking in the sight, Will trying to keep his balance and not let all his weight fall in his hips while a knife tickles his stomach, keeping him from leaning forward enough to brace himself. He blushes furiously, pinches Hannibal's thigh, the only thing he can reach to injure.

"You're really fucked up, you know that."

"You like that too."

Will gives up and grits his teeth, rearranges himself so he can move down slowly, trying and failing to be quiet. Hannibal is having only a little trouble keeping his eyes focused on Will's face, and he barely almost drops the knife at all.

"Oh, darling," he says, husky. "Take it all, just like that, Will..."

"Hannibal..."

"Mm..." Hannibal twists his hips up further into him.

Will loses his balance just a bit and slips backward an inch—he gasps "Jesus," his accidental movement putting intense pressure on his prostate with Hannibal's cock. Hannibal's eyes close and along Will's scar the knife drags in Hannibal's hand, carving an angled red gash.

 _"Fuck,"_ Will chokes, growing a little woozy, "God..."

"Tell me you like it."

"I..."

Hannibal discards the knife entirely and grabs him tight by the hip, pinching over the bone, slaps him backhand across the face.

"I _like it,"_ Will spits, incredibly turned on, actually angry. But there's always later, he tries to focus on one at a time, the past the present _or_ the future, it makes things easier, Hannibal is moving Will's hips physically so he barely needs to think, Will can feel bruises forming where his fingertips touch, capillaries bursting, he moans anyway, even though he knows Hannibal might be doing it even if Will didn't love the way the pain sinks into his blood, _but we'll never know, will we? Leave the alternate anxiety universe behind, just grind down on him and—fuck, fuck—_

"I...Hannibal, _yes,_ yes—"

"Not yet," he breathes, stopping abruptly so Will groans at the instant plateau in feeling.

Hannibal's grip on Will's hips is so tight he can hardly move them, and Hannibal holds him still, leaves his cock untouched and his ass unbearably full while he catches his breath casually as if he had all the time in the world, Will isn't sure how or if to express his need, he does and doesn't want another slap, but he can't know either what's going to bring one on so the point is moot, he can only wait to see what Hannibal will do with him after his little time-out, the slice in his belly itches and stings, in a fat steady trickle dark blood drop-by-drops to Hannibal's stomach, unable to keep his hips from straining at Hannibal's grip even though he knows it's no good...it's agony. And worst and best of all he loves it, loves the humiliation of being forced into this ridiculous game, loves being treated like the subject of an unethical psychological experiment, loves being used as a toy.

_Just like old times. How sweet._

Hannibal is able to catch Will off his guard when he starts moving Will's hips again, quick and hard, Will knows immediately he's going to cum but he can't think what he should do about it, Hannibal catches some little signal anyway, maybe his scent changes with the...hormones...

Will's eyes drift and Hannibal stops again. Will can't even summon the will to be upset.

"I said," Hannibal reminds him, _"no."_

Will moans, "Please, Doctor..."

"Not yet, darling..." He pulls back and down with Will's hips as slowly as he can stand to, actively sweating now, it's clearly an effort to not let Will go and go down with the ship himself. "Patience...is a _virtue..."_

"Let me do it," Will finds himself begging. "Fuck me, Dr. Lecter, please, let me make you come, please..."

It's intensely humiliating and he can feel the shamefully-enjoyable shame heating his face, twisting his stomach.

"No," Hannibal says again, firmly, although his resolve is weakening. "You have one more question to answer."

"God, I hate you."

"Stop lying." Unbearably both serious and teasing again. "You've been lying to me all night, and if you don't tell me the truth, I'll hit you again."

Will can't breathe— _why...I don't understand why...I like this..._

It bothers him a little bit but it feels so...incredible...the force of the danger, of seeing behind the veil, like a mental orgasm that came from being at Hannibal's mercy. But why? He never, ever enjoyed danger before Hannibal. Danger was the most terrifying thing in the world after being a homicide detective. Danger is your constant late appointment as a cop, and you're always hovering by the door to see if it's pulling into the driveway, never quite at ease.

"Hit me then. I'm not going to answer you."

Hannibal stares at him. Will is more terrified than he's been in Hannibal's presence since the fall. He can see it, the effect his words have, in Hannibal's face, his eyes. He knows beyond a doubt that if he were anyone else in the world, he would already be dead. And he knows Hannibal won't do it.

Or at least...he's sure enough to bet his life on it.

Hannibal hits him across the face so hard he bites his lip and tastes blood. Will pants and bends forward, groaning, feeling like if he encouraged himself a little he could have come when Hannibal's knuckles collided with his cheekbone.

"Uhn," he moans, "oh, Hannibal..."

"Yes you are. All you ensured was that I asked the question less politely." Hannibal lets go of him, sits up more and gathers Will in his arms so he's straddling his lap instead. He kisses the spot where Will's lip is bleeding and licks his lips. Will lets him do it.

"Had you been _good,_ I would have asked you why, if penetration is so painful and embarrassing...you don't ask me to do it instead." He wipes the last of the blood from Will's lip with his thumb and sucks it off.

Will is at a loss. He has no idea. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask.

"I don't know," he says, dumbfounded.

"That's another lie, but I think perhaps a rain check may be in order. You answered already: you enjoy embarrassment. You enjoy when I treat you..." His lips are nearly touching Will's. "Like I treat no one else...you enjoy forcing me to hurt you...because you feel intense pleasure when you force me to demonstrate that I cannot bring myself to kill you instead."

He kisses Will slowly and very sweet, Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's neck and kisses him with tongue, feeling bizarrely sentimental, moving against and down on him, not fast but Hannibal is still struggling to keep up, panting, Will finds the right distribution of weight, the right angle, it's easier sitting up in his lap like this to roll a little to his knees and...Hannibal's arms tighten around him, he moans against Will's mouth and Will feels acutely satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun and weird. I feel like this was heavily inspired by talking to idonthaveyourappetite so here you go!!! lol


End file.
